Perhaps you recall a previous post in which I announced the designated days at least in California for odd driving behavior. In that post I referred specifically to the multiple Stupid Driver Days. I thought that was the only true designated day until a recent commute redefined the whole situation for me.
But first some background. One way, my commute each day is about thirty-five miles and about forty minutes. Naturally, I have a round trip commute but you get the picture. On the aforementioned recent commute, the first leg of the round trip took well over an hour because each vehicle behind which I quite literally found myself first off drove no more than thirty miles an hour and second off carried/contained/beheld an astonishing and inexplicable cargo.
I, for example, found myself in back of an old pick up truck loaded with rusty hand lawn mowers. Secured with what appeared to be twine, the load threatened to mow down anyone in its wake. I passed that precarious pile of scrap metal to find myself in back of a cargo van whose back doors had opened and were swinging open and shut. The cargo hold appeared to be empty but the swinging doors didn't promise pleasant outcomes. Down the road a flat bed truck escorted by a pick up truck transported a mobile home. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the home had ruptured and pink insulation dragged on the asphalt, blew in the wind, and cotton candied the freeway lanes.
This cavalcade of crazy cargo continued all thirty plus miles of my commute: Tree trimming trucks leaked leaves. An old Buick dragged its muffler behind as sparks threatened to send Southern California into yet another flamed, smoke filled fire storm. Rocking chairs swayed on flat beds. Tangled bicycle tires hung from the sides of wooden truck racks. An Andy Gump portable, industrial toilet transporting truck on its way to the Fairplex stopped suddenly and the plastic toilets slammed into the truck's cab.
Not even the normal and predictable city streets saved me. A cement mixing truck stalled at the intersection and I sat mesmerized by liquid concrete oozing from the spout. I wondered if I would be cemented onto Garey late forever to work.
Unbelievably and thankfully I did not wind up behind an ambulance nor did I find myself in a funeral procession.
That commute did end and I did park and I did walk uncertain steps into my office. My work day began and ended without unusual incident although normal incidents where I work are generally unusual incidents for others.
Even though I feared the drive home, the only unusual vehicle on the road appeared to be my own.
That's life in the fast lane, I suppose.